Instead, Miss Kimble smiled. “You have not made your bet, Sir Edmund.”
Edmund leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do not think I cannot please you, Miss Kimble. You look like a woman who knows what she wants, but I am a gentleman who knows what a woman wants, and I can assure you, you will want for no pleasure.”
His hand moved forward and touched her wrist lightly. Her dark eyes met his but she did not move away from him. His finger played a circle on her skin, right above her pulse, warming it. Warming her.
Miss Kimble breathed, “You are making some significant promises, Sir Edmund, and you have not played your cards yet.”
“I am playing all my cards, Miss Kimble,” Edmund said seriously, with a smile dancing on his lips. “The question is, do you want to play too?”
There was a moment – a frantic, wild, silent moment when their eyes met and Edmund was sure she was going to say yes. His loins tightened in anticipation of slowing removing that tattered old gown to find out what delicacies were underneath.
Miss Kimble removed her hand. “I fold.”
Her words were such a surprise that Edmund gawped at her for a full ten seconds. “You – you fold?”
Miss Kimble leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I fold, yes. I believe you have a very good hand, but I am not willing to meet it. I fold.”
Edmund looked down at his hand and then at the table. His Royal Flush. It had gone, just like that. No matter how she had been able to tell that he held the best hand possible – she was willing to walk away from the table rather than risk it.
“And now, my good sir, I will be off. I…I should have gone twenty minutes ago.” Miss Kimble looked around the room, as though seeking a friend, and then flashed a brief smile at him. “You have been an interesting diversion, Sir Edmund, but now I must go. Goodbye.”
She had risen in a swirl of skirts before Edmund had registered her words, and she was halfway to the door before he had caught up with her.
“Miss – Miss Kimble!”
She did not stop, but allowed him to catch up with her. They walked out of the King’s Head together.
“Have you any further thoughts on my other offer?”
Miss Kimble stopped just under the sign for the King’s Head and raised an eyebrow. “Spending Christmas receiving unending pleasure from your hands?”
Edmund tried not to moan aloud at the very thought of it. “Yes.”
She held his gaze, just for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. I am sorry, Sir Edmund. That is never an offer which I will accept.”
Edmund reached out for her hand, determined to kiss this ridiculous woman and show her, prove to her that he could give her so much more pleasure than she had ever imagined.
And everything went black.
“What in God’s name did you do that for?”
Molly spun around to stare at the man she knew would be standing over the body now lying on the floor – and looked into the eyes of her brother, Tom.
“Well, he had it coming to him,” her eldest brother grunted.
Molly sighed, her eyes darting from her scowling brother to her slightly nervous looking brother to the pile of manhood on the ground.
“What did you intend to do next?” She said wearily, more to Jack than to Tom. Jack was more likely to be reasoned with. “Or did you not think that far ahead, you absolute idiots?”
“Do not call me an idiot,” growled Tom.
Molly sighed. It was always the problem with her brothers – well, one of them. They acted first, and did not bother to think later. There was no point. What was done, was done.
She looked down at the crumpled heap on the cobbles. Sir Edmund, and she could not separate the ridiculous name from the handsome devil at her feet, looked at little worse for wear.
Other than the cosh on the back of the head, she thought. Now he was unconscious, there were tired lines around his eyes, and the stubble that was spread across his chin did not look well-groomed or well-cared for.
A flicker of concern moved across her heart. Did he have a family; a wife, perhaps, who was waiting for his safe return? A quick glance told her there was no ring on his finger, but what did that tell you, really? She wore no ring, and she was a widow.
Jack was speaking. “ – take me, Tom? Because – ”
“Take him?” Molly interrupted with a glare. “What do you mean, ‘take him’?”
Jack looked nervously at Tom, his bottom lip quivering a little. Molly always had to remind herself that he was only fifteen.
“What’s done is done,” Tom said fiercely. The stick which he’d used to hit Sir Edmund fiercely on the head moved from hand to hand. “And do not give me that look, Molly, ‘tis naught for it now but to make the best of it, and make the best we will. Look at him.”
Molly unwillingly looked down again, and her heart softened. Poor gentleman. He likely had no idea of what would befall him this night, and he was going to pay for his eagerness to proposition her – really! – with something far dearer.
Propositioning her. The thought was harsh in her mind, but if you boiled it down, that was what he had done to her.
And she had been tempted.
Heat seared across her cheeks at the thought of it, the realisation that she had been tempted to accept the offer of a wild night of passion from a stranger.
But she was no stranger to the act of lovemaking, not that it had been given to her that often by that churl of a husband. No, he had been far more focused on his own desires, not hers.
And Sir Edmund looked like he knew his way around a woman’s body: what would please, what would –
“Molly!”
Molly jumped, startled by the loud shout which had emanated from her brother Tom who was glaring at her.
“Why did you shout?”
Tom grinned. “Because I asked you a question, and I expect a particular answer from you. I said, we are going to kidnap him. Ransom him, get gold from his family. Sir Edmund indeed.”
Molly hesitated and tried not to betray the concern in her face. Not this. Not this dark path which they had been down so much times already.
“I would not bet on it. I do not believe he has much family,” she said cautiously, thinking of what he had said before.
“My family has disowned me, Miss Kimble. I am a knight, to be sure, but I should have been something far greater.”
Jack scoffed, poking the unmoving body of Sir Edmund with his foot. “Him? Look at his waistcoat, Molly, did you not listen to him? He’s a toff if ever there was one, and that means gold.”
“You take a closer look at his waistcoat, you idiot,” Molly said, her temper fraying. Was this really all they could amount to? A disagreement over a prone body in the dark of London about whether the body was worth as much as they hoped?
Jack stared at her disbelief, and then crouched down to feel the waistcoat with his coarse finger and thumb.
“Feels like silk.”
Molly sighed. “Silk that is fraying at the edges? Silk that has clearly not been washed for nigh on a month, if I am any judge, and a style of waistcoat, moreover, that went out of fashion not three years ago? He is poor, Jack, take my word for it. He was attempting to scam coins from me, and only a man down on his luck would do that to a lady.”
But her brothers would not listen. She had known they would not, known it as soon as Sir Edmund had hit the ground.
They were too far gone, and the best thing she could do was save herself.
“Well, you have a merry evening ahead of you,” she said lightly, attempting to force down the feelings of guilt and concern rising up in her soul. “I will leave you to it, and – ”
“You seemed very interested in this gentleman.” Tom stared at her, his eyes narrowing as though he could see through her. “Very interested.”
Molly’s breath caught in her throat. Tom had never truly frightened her, not really, but he was certainly able to make her think twice about crossing him.
“He is just a gentleman I met over cards,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could. “Just a man.”
Tom smiled and Molly did not like it. “If you are so interested in him, Molls, you can join him.”
She did not move fast enough. Before she could take a step backwards, Molly’s hands were grabbed by Tom and he leered in her face, stale beer on his breath.
“Let me go,” she said forcefully in the same tone she had used when they were children.
It did not work now.
“Jack, come and help me with this,” Tom snarled.
This, thought Molly. Not her. This.
Jack looked anxious, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. But it was clear he did not dare disobey his brother.
“I have rope,” he said breathlessly, moving forward to tie together Molly’s wrists.
It was all happening too fast, it was almost unbelievable. Molly’s heart was thumping so hard, she could feel her pulse throbbing against the wiry string they quickly passed around her wrists.
"Jack – Jack let me go!” Molly struggled, kicked out, but there were two of them and only one of her. They were taller than her, stronger than her, and she had never had her brothers so wildly out of her control.
“Come on, Molls,” jeered Tom, pulling her towards the horse they had waiting. “You will be all cosy with your gentleman fri – ouch!”
Molly’s flailing shoes had caught one of his shins and Tom buckled in pain. Molly tried to wrench free, twisting her body but Jack was already there, his hands on her shoulders.
“You can go quiet,” he said in a low voice, “or you can go unconscious.”
Molly stopped struggling immediately. There was something about Jack’s voice, something she had not heard before.
Fear. But also hope. Perhaps he would rescue her, come and release her when Tom was asleep?
Because she knew where they were taking her. It was a rundown house in Cheapside, one no one cared about and no one enquired too much about. They had hidden many a person there together, in pursuit of ransoms and riches.
And now she would be one of his prisoners.
“You have to help me, Jack,” she whispered as Tom pulled her once more to the horse. “Help me.”
His eyes were wide, full of expression and fear, but he did not make a move to help her.
Within twenty minutes, she and the unconscious Sir Edmund were dropped onto the floor of the house.
Molly rose to her feet with difficulty, rushing at the door – but it was too late. Her hands bound, she could not get to the lock quick enough to prevent her brothers, her own flesh and blood, turning the key.
“See you in a few days, Molls,” came Tom’s laughing voice through the door.
Their footsteps became quieter.
Molly turned around. Lying on the floor in a tangled heap, no ropes needed at his wrists, was Sir Edmund.
They were alone.
4
Edmund’s eyes opened blearily and then immediately shut themselves.
Anything to prevent the horrendous light from pouring into his pupils and crashing against the headache to end all headaches.
God’s teeth, his temples felt as though an elephant had fallen asleep against them. This was absolute agony, agony he had never felt before. Not even after that New Year’s party when George decided to buy everyone a glass of whiskey for each hand, and he had whipped off his socks and attempted – successfully – to grasp a glass with each foot.
Edmund opened his eyes again, but this time more slowly. The tight pain around his head did not lessen, but this time it did not increase.
What did increase, however, was his confusion. If he was not entirely mistaken, he was lying on a very hard, cold floor.
His legs splayed, Edmund felt a sharp and unrecognisable pain around his wrists – which now he looked, were bound together with some frayed rope. He sat up and looked around him.
Well, this was new. He did not recognise a single thing around him.
He had been lying, from what he could make out through the pounding headache, on the floor of a kitchen. Not the kitchen of Mrs Bird, as far as he could make out. This was even smaller and meaner than hers, and it had a sort of, unlived in feel.
There were cobwebs in the corners and a moulding apple on the side. Surely, if someone had been here recently, they would have removed it.
One small window in the corner had no curtains and was allowing the weak morning sunlight which had proved so painful just minutes ago. Edmund could make out a church spire through it. A church spire he did not recognise.
So what was he doing here?
“Merry Christmas.”
Edmund jerked around and regretted it immediately, raising his bound hands to his sore head and wincing.
It was a woman. She was beautiful, though that would be the weak light and the inability to think clearly.
She was sitting at a table with her arms crossed and a fierce look on her face. Edmund blinked. She was beautiful, and what’s more, she was familiar.
“Miss…” The words crept from his mouth groggily and Edmund swallowed, trying to bring a little more moisture into his mouth before he tried again. “Miss…Kippers?”
The woman snorted. “Kimble is the word you are looking for, your highness, and I pray you remember that. ‘Tis going to be a long time before you need to use the words of anyone else.”
Edmund blinked. Each individual word made sense, or at least he thought it did, but the now throbbing pain at the side of his head made it impossible to fully understand what Miss Kimble was saying.
“I am not royalty,” he said slowly, still seated on the floor of the kitchen like a fool, is bound hands in his lap. “Miss Kimble, I think you have been misinformed.”
Miss Kimble stared at him and then narrowed her eyes. “Misinformed. Yes, that is about the sum of it. So, Sir Edmund, do you remember who I am?”
Edmund pushed himself off the floor to rise but his head swam, and so he lowered himself carefully back to the floor and wished to God that he was wealthy still, and his butler could bring him a restorative.
“Of course I remember who you are,” he lied, the haughtiness of his upbringing buying him a little time. “You are Miss Kimble.”
Miss Kimble raised an eyebrow. “What a succinct explanation. How did we meet, Sir Edmund?”
Edmund stared at her. Golden hair with dark eyes that sparkled even in this dull morning light. He could see little of her figure from the way that she was sitting, but that seemed purposeful. As though she did not want a man’s attention.
Or his attention.
“Oh, God,” he said heavily. “Did I proposition you last night?”
Miss Kimble laughed and it twisted his stomach into a hot mess. He knew it, the memories were seeping back now.
The card table. The game. The way her eyes glittered whenever she won a hand, and he had been unable to take his eyes from her, unable to consider not offering himself to her.
What he would not do to take her to bed and make her cry out his name.
“You did indeed,” she said drily. “I am not sorry to say that you were refused. What a Christmas that would have been.”
Edmund nodded and then immediately desisted. “That does not surprise me. What does surprise me are my current surroundings. This…this is not your home, I take it?”
Miss Kimble stared at him. “You think I live like this?”
Edmund sighed. It was so much easier being in conversation with young ladies when you were the heir to a duke. They were so much more polite, more pliant.
And they did not glare at him as though he was a disgusting insect accidentally – or purposefully – trodden on, as Miss Kimble was doing now.
“Miss Kimble, I think it is fair to say that I have had an interesting night, and I evidently do not remember how I got here,” he said, a little more tersely. “I would be grateful if you coul
d tell me. Fill in the gaps. Explain how I slept on this floor.”
He held her gaze, which was no hardship. She truly was beautiful, but there was a ferocity and a fierceness in her that made every pretty feature sparkle like diamonds.
Edmund found more than stomach contracting. God’s teeth, if only she had said yes.
“You have been kidnapped.”
If he had not watched her lips moved, he would not have believed it possible for the words he had heard to be have been uttered by a human being.
Edmund stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You have been kidnapped,” Miss Kimble repeated, not a hint of emotion in her tones. “I know it must be a great shock, but there it is. These sorts of things must happen to people like you – taken away, you know.”
“Must happen – must happen to people like me?” Edmund spluttered. “We do not live in the Stone Age, Miss Kimble! We have law and order, or at least, I thought we did!”
She smiled. “Sir Edmund, your very name, your very parentage makes you a likely victim, do you not see? Ransom is their game, I am sure of it. They expect a pretty pay out from those of your relatives who would like to see you live. I assume you have some?”
The way that she said it told Edmund that he had imparted, if not all, at least some of his family story.
He bit his lip. Truth be told, he was not entirely sure that there was anyone in the family who would cough up a pile of gold to see him safe and sound. Bitterness mingled with sorrow poured into his heart. Four brothers, and a parent still living, and he was not sure whether anyone would pay to keep him alive.
“Well, good luck with that,” he said drily in a more confident tone than he felt. “Ransom, from my family? You must be mad to think it, and I pity you for you will find no riches in my family line!”
“Do not raise your voice at me, sir!” Miss Kimble rose from her seat in her fury. “Do I look as though I am a willing participant?”
Edmund stared at her. She was slim, elegant, with curves exactly where he would want them. She was also standing there with her hair slightly unpinned at the back and a dishevelled look he associated with sleeping on a sofa overnight.
Kidnapped with a Knight: A Steamy Regency Romance (Ravishing Regencies Book 0.5) Page 3